


Interrupted

by a_gay_poster



Category: Naruto
Genre: Caught in the Act, Clothed Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Office Sex, PWP, Prompt Fill, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_gay_poster/pseuds/a_gay_poster
Summary: One of the best things about being in love with Gaara, Lee had realized some time ago,wasn’tlearning new things about him. It was seeing the same things, the routine things, the predictable things--again and again and again--and realizing he hadlearned them.
Relationships: Gaara/Rock Lee
Comments: 14
Kudos: 262





	Interrupted

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a smut prompt fill on Tumblr. The prompt was: “If loud, weird public sex is wrong, then being wrong is wicked hot. (right and wrong are just guidelines to hotter sex)” and overstimulation/denial. 
> 
> I didn’t quite hit the “overstimulation” bit (hard to do that in public), and the denial here is quite mild. I’ll try and tackle those a bit more thoroughly in another work. 
> 
> (Make good choices. Be prepared. Don’t use lotion as lube.)

They woke up early, and Lee followed the shuffle of Gaara’s slippers down to the kitchen. The rough sandstone of the floors was cold against his bare feet.

Lee had been on leave in Suna for nearly two weeks, and already the anticipatory missing had begun. 

Gaara couldn’t afford to be away from work for more than a few hours per day, so Lee’s visit had been dominated by mere snatches of time together: early mornings, late nights. But it was enough, for Lee, to be able to fall asleep next to him and wake up in the morning with Gaara in his arms, all mussed hair and sleep-swollen eyes. 

(Gaara’s eyes never lost the dark circles, no matter how many nights in a row Lee heard him snoring and whuffling, his face nuzzled up against Lee’s neck. Lee didn’t mind them; they just made Gaara’s eyes all the brighter when the morning light caught them, in little shafts of light through the hall’s narrow windows.) 

There were too few idle hours before Gaara needed to leave to attend to the duties of his office, before Lee would spend the rest of the day alone. Before he would be consigned to pass his days in the spaces filled and shaped by Gaara--drinking tea from Gaara’s mugs and practicing his kicks on the stone posts in the back courtyard that had been eroded by Gaara’s sand. It was enough, for Lee. But it was sometimes lonely. 

So Lee grabbed Gaara’s hand as they descended the stairs together, and squeezed his fingers when Gaara looked over his shoulder, expression inquisitive. 

He wanted to spend every possible moment wrapped up in Gaara, and he suspected Gaara felt the same. At least, that was the impression he got when Gaara rushed home at the close of each day. When he forewent a walk home from the office in favor of a simple Sand Transportation jutsu into the foyer. When he fell into Lee’s arms before his robe and hat had hit the floor. 

As the last days of Lee’s vacation loomed, their preoccupation with one another had only intensified. 

It was this preoccupation that found Lee, in the early hours of the morning, pressed up against Gaara’s kitchen counter while their tea water boiled. Soft blue light was just creeping over the countertops, heralding the start of another simmering day. Gaara’s breath was hot against Lee’s neck, his body soft and insistent through the thin fabric of Lee’s sleep clothes. He raked his nails down Lee’s sides, fingers warm as they skated up Lee’s skin, and took advantage of how Lee’s lips parted in a gasp to slip his tongue in Lee’s mouth. 

Lee shifted his hips, parting his legs to bring himself to a more comfortable height as Gaara tugged his face down to deepen the kiss. Gaara pressed against Lee, crowding his space until the lines of their bodies were perfectly aligned, and Lee felt a hardness against the divot of his hip that hadn’t been there moments before. Gaara moved against him, just a gentle rocking, and something stirred in Lee’s belly in return. His hands slid down Gaara’s shoulders, and his fingers cupped the shape of Gaara’s ribs, the soft indentions of the space between them seemingly made for his fingers. 

Gaara licked at the swell of Lee’s lower lip, then the flat edge of his freshly brushed teeth. A tiny noise escaped him, plaintive and seeking. Lee swallowed it down and sought a repeat performance. Everything felt soft and light and wonderful, Gaara rubbing the length of his body against Lee just for the sheer tactile pleasure of it, eyes slitted like a contented cat. 

The kettle rattled on the stovetop, hissing steam. They broke apart just long enough for Gaara to remove it from the heat before he returned to Lee’s arms. 

“How long before you have to go into the office?” Lee asked. His fingers met at the small of Gaara’s back and urged him forward.

Gaara dug his teeth into the meat of Lee’s shoulder with a little considering noise. “An hour.”

“Ah, good, then we have time to--” 

There was a flicker of chakra outside, insistent enough that even Lee noticed it, despite his lack of natural talent for sensing such things and his distraction at the sensation of Gaara’s fingers rubbing soft circles on his lower abdomen. 

Gaara narrowed his eyes as he looked up, squinting at the window. There was a brief moment where Lee thought he might ignore the summons; his hands were still rubbing idly at Lee’s bare skin under his shirt. Then he dropped his head to Lee’s shoulder and gave a frustrated, abortive groan. 

There was the sound of sand rushing, and then Gaara’s blood-flushed, irritated expression was gone, replaced with the placid mask of the Sand Armor. Lee blinked as the illusion of the impeccably composed Kazekage perfected itself, hardening with a faint shimmer. The sand hissed once more, and then he was gone. 

It was a little unfair, Lee thought, standing there with half an erection and his feet growing cold. The disguise of Gaara’s Sand Armor was so complete that he even appeared to be fully clothed. The corner of his red coat that Lee could see through the kitchen window billowed in the morning breeze, the only thing belying that it was sand and not fabric a slight stiffness around its hem. 

Lee was still standing with his back up against the kitchen counter when Gaara returned. The sand cracked away in fits and starts at the threshold of the kitchen door. His face underneath looked so disgruntled and put-out that Lee had half a mind to storm down to the courtyard himself and give Gaara’s ANBU a piece of his mind. Disturbing the Kazekage during his rare few hours of personal time--how dare he! Of course, the ANBU weren’t the least bit intimidated by Lee, but Lee would do almost anything if it meant not having to see the crestfallen expression on Gaara’s face.

“I have to go in,” Gaara said. 

Lee had assumed as much the moment he had felt Atsushi-kun’s familiar chakra flickering below. 

“Okay.” Lee smoothed the more unruly of Gaara’s flyaways down from his part. There was a high spot of color on each of Gaara’s cheeks, and Lee rubbed at them with his thumbs, cupping his face.

“This isn’t over.” Gaara leaned forward to exhale against Lee’s ear, his breath warm on Lee’s face. “Come see me at lunch.”

Lee barely had time to stutter a breathy _okay,_ before Gaara had slipped on his robes and stalked off, the Sand trailing him like an eager, unruly pet. 

The door slammed behind him when he left, hard enough that little flakes of dust freed themselves from the ceiling and spiraled down, caught in the cool grey light. Lee knew Gaara wasn’t irritated _with him_ , but it stung either way to be left like that, everything dangling and inconclusive.

Lee meant to treasure every moment they shared together, but it was difficult when the moment wasn’t allowed to draw to its natural conclusion. 

He took a deep, steadying breath and mentally added thirty push-ups to his morning routine for being so ungrateful.

* * *

“Nice outfit.”

Lee looked down at his jounin blues, then back at Gaara, seated behind the desk in his office. It had seemed prudent, after the morning, to forego his customary jumpsuit. Both for the lunchtime plans Gaara had refrained from laying out in detail, and from the memories of the morning that kept replaying in his mind, distracting him from his training.

“Ah, well--I _thought_ \--It sounded like you were implying--”

Gaara smoothly raised one pale eyebrow. The shadow of it shimmered, his expression impenetrable under the Sand Armor.

“I was,” Gaara said, “implying.”

Lee sagged with relief.

“Oh, good.” 

Gaara glanced meaningfully down at Lee’s hand, then back at his face. 

“You didn’t think I meant I wanted to share a bento, did you?” 

Lee hefted the cloth wrapped parcel in his hand, feeling sheepish. Gaara stood and brushed past him, snatching the lunchbox on his way to the door. 

“I wasn’t _sure_ ,” Lee stammered, “and you never eat enough when you’re working anyway--” 

There was a telltale _thunk_ as Gaara dropped his gourd by the locked office door, then the crumbling noise of his armor being shed as he crossed the floor to pin Lee against the broad front side of his desk. In a single movement he dropped the bento on the desk and shoved Lee’s knees apart, kissing him hard. 

Gaara’s office was a wide room, round and spacious, replete with Gaara’s favorite cacti. There were tiny porthole windows all around the top edge of the walls, positioned such that light could make its way in during the day, but prying eyes could not--or, not without effort. Trellised vines replaced the thick waxed canvas curtains that were the preferred window coverings of most Sunan office buildings, giving the room’s light a slightly green tinge. 

Lee still felt exposed despite the relative privacy of being wedged between two of Gaara’s larger desk plants while Gaara kissed him insensate. Gaara’s ANBU were likely to be somewhere nearby, unseen. Lee didn’t sense them, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there, hiding their presence. Nowhere in Suna, Lee had discovered much to his dismay, was truly safe from their observation. 

It was difficult, after a moment, to be distracted by the promise of being seen or by the tickling of the tendrils of Gaara’s most gregarious spider plant on the back of Lee’s bare neck. Especially as Gaara’s fingers found the zipper of Lee’s vest and quickly dispatched it, his fingers slipping beneath to grasp Lee’s waist, warm through the heavy, dyed canvas of his shirt. 

Their kiss was incendiary, even as Gaara pulled back to trail kisses down the hinge of Lee’s jaw, to suck at the spot behind Lee’s ear that had his knees going weak, hands scrabbling for purchase on the marbled surface of Gaara’s desk. Thin fingers slipped up and under his shirt hem and found home tracing the long seam of a scar on his side, up his waist to his ribs. 

Gaara’s Kazekage robes were slightly more discreet than anything in Lee’s closet, a fact that Lee had been not-infrequently envious of on the few occasions they had been nearly caught mid-tryst. But that didn’t mean that the signs weren’t there, and Lee was something of an expert in knowing where to look. There was a certain cant to Gaara’s hips as he sucked Lee’s lower lip into his mouth, a tweak in his posture when he pulled back to nip at the swollen flesh. Arousal, clear as day, writ large in the seaglass-green of his pupils, the way they flashed yellow in the midday light. Gaara’s eyes tracked over Lee’s face like a touch, more intimate even than the fingers dipping down into his waistband. Mapping the sight of him. Drinking him in. 

“Can I- ?” Lee bent slightly at the knees, nodding towards the line of Gaara’s arousal through his robes. 

Gaara nodded and stepped back to make space for Lee to drop to his knees. 

For a moment, Lee wasn’t sure how to proceed. He gripped idly at Gaara’s bony ankles through the fabric, stroking the shapes there. His fingers crawled up under the hem of Gaara’s robes, his hands stroking up his knees to brush his thighs. At home, Lee thought, they would have done away with the robe long ago. But even though this was Gaara’s private space, they couldn’t afford to be seen. And nothing would be a clearer marker of _exactly_ what they were doing--if some thoughtless assistant or urgent ANBU happened to stumble upon them--than to have Gaara’s robes of office strewn across the floor. 

“Lee,” Gaara said, with no small amount of urgency underlying his voice. His hands were braced against the desk around where Lee knelt, boxing him in. “Hurry _up_.” 

So Lee lifted the hem of Gaara’s white robe and ducked underneath. 

It was stifling under the robe, warm and smelling like Gaara’s skin. The fabric was lightweight enough that a good amount of light still fell through, and Lee could see the line of Gaara’s dick, hard through the thin fabric of his trousers. He pressed close, hands around the backs of Gaara’s thighs, open mouth hot against the shape of him in a kiss, and heard Gaara’s breath above him catch in his throat. 

A few rough passes of Lee’s palm over the fabric, and Gaara’s hips were rocking to meet him. Lee grinned. One of the best things about being in love with Gaara, Lee had realized some time ago, _wasn’t_ learning new things about him. It was seeing the same things, the routine things, the predictable things--again and again and again--and realizing he had _learned them._ Like the way Gaara’s hips shifted, eager for friction, when Lee held his hands very carefully away so that the only things touching him were his fingers on the laces of his pants, because Gaara couldn’t stand to go untouched once the touching had begun. Like the sound he made, strangled in his throat and muffled against his own shoulder, when Lee finally pulled his dick free from his pants and underwear and just palmed it for a moment, waiting. Like the hissed, “ _Please,_ ” that scraped out of his throat as Lee sat there, just enjoying the smell and the sight of him, skin-warm and blood-flushed, heavy in his hand. 

Lee was aware, suddenly, of his confinement. Crouched low and halfway under Gaara’s desk, draped in his robes, barricaded by his arms. Everything in the world blocked out and muffled: the sounds of people in the hallway chattering and milling about, going about their workday; the gold and green of the light through the leaves of Gaara’s plants; the heavy smell of sap and aloe on the air. All of it faded away to this: Gaara in front of him, filling his every sense, the sight and smell and--yes, finally--the taste of him, as Lee leaned forward and took him in his mouth. 

Under his fingers, Gaara’s hips trembled. Lee sucked just gently at the head of his dick, easing his mouth around the intrusion. Gaara’s skin smelled clean with soap from their shared shower the night before and faintly salty with the day’s sweat. Lee traced his tongue along the underside of his dick and felt Gaara’s body still. 

Lee took the rest of Gaara in his palm and set a quick pace with his mouth, a slick up-and-down motion. It was hot under the fabric, and it only grew hotter as he moved, sweat springing to the back of his neck and prickling at his hairline. 

But something wasn’t quite right. Gaara went very still and terribly quiet. 

Lee _felt_ like he was using all his best moves--the things he knew Gaara liked best, the exact gentle pressure and smooth tempo that usually sent him gasping--but Gaara didn’t seem to be enjoying himself as much as usual. There was no familiar stutter of his hips, no little hitches of breath. Lee twisted his hand, seeking the pace Gaara liked, and hummed encouragingly, but the lack of reciprocation found his own interest flagging in turn. Maybe he was nervous, Lee thought. After all, they had never done anything quite so close to public before. Gaara didn’t like risk at the best of times. Perhaps this was too much. 

He was just about to pull back to ask when there was a rush of cool air. Lee blinked up into Gaara’s eyes, blinded by the sudden light. 

Gaara thrust forward with a stifled groan, hard and sudden enough that Lee choked a little. 

Lee pressed his tongue to the head of Gaara’s dick, licking around the tip as he pulled back. He held Gaara’s hips still with one firm hand as he asked, “Are you okay?”

“It’s not as good when I can’t see you,” Gaara breathed.

It had been hard enough to breathe before, between the fullness of Lee’s mouth and the crowded heat under Gaara’s robes, but all of the air left Lee’s lungs at those words. 

Gaara’s fingers found the edges of Lee’s hair, the curve of his ear. “Like that--it could have been anyone--it _wouldn’t_ have been anyone but you, but … I needed to see you. It has to be you or it’s just …” The tips of Gaara’s fingers trailed Lee’s damp lips. Lee crossed his eyes to follow their path. “… mechanical.” 

Lee’s face heated under the scrutiny. “Oh,” he said, at a loss for words. Not for the first time since he had started courting Gaara, he wished he had his notebook to hand, the one filled with loving declarations and his most poetic thoughts about his most precious person. The thoughts that most often came to him in their long hours apart, after a good training session or just as he was falling to sleep. Lee was no wordsmith, no politician. He had no stirring, impassioned speech to describe the way Gaara made him feel. The right words never came easily to him like this, shivery under Gaara’s keen attention, facing down the person he had chosen to spend the rest of his life with. 

“I love you,” he said, in lieu of the feelings that were too big to articulate. 

Lee watched Gaara’s face go soft. His thumb stroked the span of Lee’s lower lip. 

“I love you, too,” he murmured, and pulled Lee up for a kiss. He leaned into Lee, pressing his body’s weight against him until Lee was half-sitting on the edge of the desk. 

“I don’t have much time,” Gaara murmured into Lee’s mouth. “I want us both to enjoy this. Can I try something else?” 

Lee nodded so hurriedly that he almost barked his forehead against Gaara’s. 

Gaara’s fingers were quick and efficient on the buttons of Lee’s pants, heavy-handed in how he dragged across the front of Lee’s briefs to drag the fabric down. The stone of the desk was cold against Lee’s backside as Gaara shucked his pants just to the knee. 

The cumbersome robes were next, despite Lee’s initial misgivings. Gaara’s arms worked fast, then with a flutter of fabric like the wings of some great animal, the garment was hanging over the back of his desk chair. Gaara’s hair stood up in every direction, disheveled and sweat-damp, blood-dark like the scar on his forehead. _Love_. His eyes were fever bright. 

A kiss, hot and biting at his lip, and then Gaara shoved Lee’s left knee up, and his right knee went with it, strapped close by the thick canvas of his pants. For the first time since they had begun, Lee missed the flexibility of his jumpsuit. 

It was a precarious position, balanced on the edge of Gaara’s desk, but Lee had been training his balance his entire life for just such a moment. 

Well, not _exactly_ this moment. If Lee had been told, ten years ago, that he would be half-disrobed in the Kazekage’s office, shoved up against Gaara’s desk while they rutted against each other, hot as brands? That Gaara’s mouth would be leaving damp tooth-marks on the skin of his neck, his nails digging into Lee’s shoulders like claws? Well, he would have needed a very cold shower after that conversation. But he also wouldn’t have believed it.

Braced on his fingertips, he remembered honing his balance on tall training posts hammered into the center of Konoha’s river, shifting his weight minutely. He felt more keyed up now than he ever had then, thirty feet in the air with water rushing around below him. 

The stricture of his pants meant Lee’s legs were forced high, knees almost at Gaara’s shoulders, so that when Gaara pressed forward to rub against him, the head of his dick dragged slick against Lee’s entrance. 

Lee made a noise that he wished he had had the foresight to muffle, thrusting back against that heat. 

Gaara pulled back to look at him, his pupils huge and flashing green-gold, that animal shine catching all the light in the room. A flush of blood stained his cheeks. He looked wild, the sharp points of his canines bared, his thin chest heaving. 

Lee’s heart caught in his chest. He was grateful, as he was every time he got to see the true expressiveness of Gaara’s face, that Gaara had let him see beneath the Sand Armor. Nobody outside of this room would ever truly know Gaara like this, who he was with the armor shed. The true openness of his expressions that the mask concealed. His smiles, his frowns, the gritting of his teeth in frustration. His arousal, lips swollen pink and mouth half-open, panting. 

“I have--” Gaara held Lee in place with one hand as he rooted in his desk drawer and pulled out a tiny lacquered pot. 

Lee recognized it only once he had unscrewed the lid: the lotion Gaara rubbed into his hands, thick and simple and unscented, when the desert air in summer made his skin dry and crack. It wasn’t what Lee would have preferred to use, given his druthers, but it sent a tiny, secret thrill through him. The idea that Gaara-- _his_ Gaara, his persnickety, particular, neurotic planner, who disdained impulse and who had contingencies for his contingencies--had been so overcome with desire, with want for him, that he had forgotten to plan for _this_.

Lee sniffed it carefully. It was scentless, inoffensive. Even if it was less than ideal, it probably wouldn’t _hurt_ him. 

He tipped the open jar towards Gaara. Gaara slicked his fingers immediately. 

And then those clever fingers were working down underneath Lee, slipping inside him and working him open and apart. Lee’s own fingers trembled on the edge of the desk, his balance ever more precarious as Gaara scissored him open. Gaara crooked his fingers, stroking slow inside him, and Lee’s head fell forward onto Gaara’s shoulder. He bit the fabric of Gaara’s light jacket until it was wet in the shape of his mouth, outlined with the indents of his teeth. 

“Please,” he mumbled against the ball of Gaara’s shoulder, against the hot skin beneath the thin weave of the fabric. 

Gaara twisted his fingers a few more times, dragging over that spot inside him. Lee’s knees shook. 

“Please,” Lee repeated, and finally Gaara showed him mercy. He pulled back just enough to slick himself, too, and lined himself up against Lee’s entrance. 

Gaara drove forward into him, slowly and then all at once. Lee gasped and tensed, balanced on the precipice with Gaara holding him up. A warm mouth pressed a kiss to his knee.

“Okay?” Gaara asked, and at Lee’s nod, he began to move. 

The angle wasn’t perfect, Lee’s hips a bit too high for Gaara to thrust into him all the way, to truly drive into him the way he would have if they had been at home, laid out on Gaara’s bed with Lee on his back and Gaara above him. But Gaara’s thrusts were quick and eager, the speed more than enough to make up for the lack of pressure and finesse. They couldn’t quite kiss, but Gaara bit at Lee’s mouth, at his chin and shoulder and collarbone, until Lee’s skin was prickling all over, hot with tension and the surge of blood to fresh bruises. 

Gaara pulled Lee close to him, pressed their foreheads together until they were sharing the same breath. Lee went lightheaded with the lack of fresh oxygen, his breath winnowed down to what Gaara deigned to breathe into his mouth. He was so hard he could have caught fire, and Gaara still hadn’t touched him yet, his only relief the slight drag of the hem of Gaara’s jacket over his neglected dick, the slight brush of the fabric of his own shirt, slowly getting ruined with his precum. 

Gaara never closed his eyes during kissing or sex, and now was no different. His stare bore down into Lee, pinning him in place so that the only thought in his head was the sight of Gaara, the pink flush on his sunless skin and the burning in his eyes. The smell of sweat and sand and green, growing things all around them. The sound of his harsh breathing and the desk banging against the floor: _knock, knock, knock_. 

Lee became dimly aware that the knocking wasn’t just the rattling of the desk as Gaara moved in him, but was coming from somewhere more distant. The door, he thought with a sudden lurch of dread in his stomach. Gaara’s assistants, his ANBU--oh _no_. 

Gaara’s fingers loosed one of Lee’s shoulders from its death grip. His eyes narrowed as he made a flicking gesture. Lee heard the sand rushing, the door creaking.

A yelp of surprise, rapidly stifled. 

The door slammed. 

“Gaara,” Lee panted, “was that--?” 

“Nobody of consequence.” Gaara nipped at Lee’s shoulder, his teeth sharp through the canvas. “And they’ve just received a very clear message about interrupting me _twice_ in one day.”

Lee tried to feel embarrassed and discovered he couldn’t quite work up the will. _Twice?_

“Did he see us?” he gasped. “Atsushi-kun’s not--” 

“No. The sand blocked the door. I didn’t _hurt_ him, Lee, my god.” Gaara moved his hips in an upstroke that forced all the air from Lee’s diaphragm. “I just startled him a little bit. A warning shot.” 

“It’s his _job_ \--” 

Gaara cut him off with a particularly harsh bite at his jugular vein. Lee threw his head back with a gasp. Well, he thought, it probably wasn’t the _worst_ thing Atsushi-kun had ever encountered in his line of duty. It was more an--an occupational hazard, if anything. And they had very good therapists for the shinobi corps, these days. Gaara had made sure of that. 

“Focus,” Gaara hissed, tugging Lee’s hips down to punctuate a thrust. “We don’t have much time.” 

Lee’s fingers gripped the edge of the desk so hard he was afraid he might crack it. He probably could, if he wasn’t careful. 

“I just need--” Lee lifted his hips, trying to get even the slightest bit of friction against his aching dick. 

Gaara’s hand trailed down the front of Lee’s chest from his shoulder to his stomach. Finally, he took Lee in his hand and stroked. 

“Yes--that, yes, please,” Lee babbled. Gaara increased the pace of his hips, gripped Lee harder, stroked him faster. “Just like that, please, I’m close--” 

Gaara’s thrusts were frenetic, his hips moving faster and faster until he was hardly pulling out or driving in at all, just making short, rough movements deep inside Lee, the head of his dick rubbing against Lee’s prostate relentlessly. His hand sped up, his thumb working over the head of Lee’s dick until Lee was raw with sensation. 

“I’m--” Lee’s voice pitched. “Oh, I--ah-- _Gaara!_ ” 

He came hard, sparks and phosphenes bursting behind his eyelids, his fingers locking up in a death grip on the stone surface of the desk. His toes curled in his sandals, feet hanging in midair to either side of Gaara’s body. Every muscle in his body tightened; he felt Gaara gripping him close. 

“Fuck,” Gaara grunted, teeth at the delicate skin where Lee’s neck met his shoulder. 

Gaara’s hips stuttered a few more times, then stilled. Riding out the aftershocks of his own orgasm, Lee could feel Gaara’s dick pulsing in him, the faint traces of heat inside. 

Gaara eased them apart, let Lee’s numb legs down until he was standing, wobbly-kneed, on his own two feet. Gaara kissed him hard on the mouth and pulled back to smile at him, wearing an expression of leonine contentment. He wiped his soiled hand on the inside of Lee’s shirt. 

The embarrassment flooded back in a wave. Lee looked down at his shirt and the hem of Gaara’s jacket, splattered and ruined with cum. Thank god Gaara had thought to take his vest off him before they started, or Lee wouldn’t have been able to walk out of here without blowing open a few gates so he could move faster than the human eye could see. As he tucked himself back into his pants, he noticed a thin fissure on the surface of Gaara’s desk, its origin point where one of his hands had been.

“Um,” he said, gesturing with his chin. 

Gaara followed the line of his gaze. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’ll fix it later. Nobody will even notice.”

The door rattled with a heavy-handed knock. Lee felt his ears burning. Someone had _definitely_ noticed they were finished.

Gaara picked Lee’s vest up from the ground and draped it around Lee’s shoulders. 

“Finish getting dressed,” he whispered, and his warm breath on Lee’s ear made Lee’s knees weak all over again. “I’ll go deal with this.”

Gaara’s Sand Armor flooded up to meet him as he stepped around the desk, manifesting a flawless imitation of the robes of office that still lay wrinkled across the back of his chair. His face was a mask of perfect composure, his hair seemingly neatly combed as he cracked the door just wide enough to slip into the hallway. 

Lee zipped his vest up with numb fingers, wishing not for the first time that he had even the slightest skill with genjutsu. He could already feel the marks springing to the surface of his skin, marks that hadn’t been there when he had showed up at Gaara’s office, lunchbox in hand, and cheerily requested an audience from his assistant. His assistant whose desk was right out in the hall … 

Lee sunk his face into his hands. 

He was still covering his face as the door clicked open and shut again. Gaara’s steps neared and gentle hands found his wrists, prying his hands away. 

Gaara had the Sand Armor off again, but his gourd was back at his hip.

“Are you okay?” His eyes were very soft. A massive bruise was blooming on the column of his neck, florid on the thin skin. Lee hardly remembered biting him, but he guessed he must have.

“I’m just--” Lee stammered. “I can’t believe we _did that_. And where everyone could _hear us?_ ” 

“Lee.” Gaara took his face in both his hands and pulled Lee down until they were eye-to-eye. “I have an excellent staff. Nobody was out there eavesdropping on us. Nobody _cares_. They’re probably just glad that I wasn’t in here disemboweling children and bathing in the blood of the innocents.” 

Lee gasped. “You would _never_ \--” 

Gaara rolled his eyes. “Not anymore, no. I know that. You know that. Deep down, I think all of my people know that, now. But it still helps when they can see me as human.” 

Lee let his face drop to Gaara’s shoulder with a groan. “But it’s still so embarrassing! I mean, Atsushi-kun--” 

“--Is a consummate professional.” Gaara cut him off. “But speaking of that.” He sighed, grumbling, “I’m going to have to work late.”

“Oh?” Lee’s face fell. 

“Through dinner.” Gaara unwrapped the bento one-handed and popped a piece of salted fish into his mouth. 

“Oh.”

Gaara kept chewing, expression considering. “Did you make this?” 

“Ah, yes!” Lee clenched a fist. “It is my special recipe! I prepared it between my 10 AM and 11 AM trainings!” 

Gaara swallowed, then turned to the box and rooted around in it for another few pieces of fish. He offered one to Lee, and when Lee brushed him off, he stuck them all in his mouth at once. “This is good,” Gaara said with his mouth full. 

His expression broke into a sly little smile. 

“You know, you could come back for a dinner break.”


End file.
